


Remember You

by shxksha



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Coming of Age, Drinking, Getting Together, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Slow Burn, Teen Romance, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-07-12 06:09:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19941490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shxksha/pseuds/shxksha
Summary: They were just two little kids who made each other's hearts feel funny.Before they could dwell on their feelings for each other, one of them up and left town.But when 17-year-old Phil Lester finds himself returning to his old Manchester home, he meets 17-year-old Dan Howell, the boy he once knew.And funny feelings and fluttering hearts make a return too.Except, everything has changed.





	1. manchester.

Trees. Houses. Gardens. More trees. 

Phil has to say, it’s bleaker than he remembers. But then again, it’s not like he remembers much. He hasn’t seen this place since he was just a little eight year old boy with a head full of dreams. And it’s not like the busy London streets with their towering skyscrapers and indefinite background noise form much of a valid comparison to this tiny Manchester neighbourhood.

In fact, Phil prefers the silence now more than ever. 

It’s noisy enough in his head.

He sits watching the droplets of water race down his window, placing bets on which one will make it down first until he gives up on the mundane task eventually, realising that they’ll all inevitably fall down anyway.

His mum hasn’t spoken a word since she last asked his brother Martyn if he had any change on him back at the petrol station. That was two hours ago. But he keeps the volume of his headphones down just in case.

His mum hasn’t really spoken much in the past week at all, to be honest. That is, of course, if you exclude the muffled sobs that echoed the walls of their London apartment all of these past seven nights.

It was a Tuesday, when it happened.

Phil has the image ingrained vividly behind his eyes. As vivid as it got behind the cloudy blur of his quickly welling up tears, I mean. How his mother crumbled right before him. How Martyn stood there holding her. How his father, for the last time, told them he loved them unconditionally. 

Before he left. For good.

Cancer’s a bitch, it really is. And the worst part is, his father did nothing to deserve the fate that it landed him. His lungs may have given up on him, but his faith never did. The Lesters knew that the fateful day would arrive soon from about a year now, and one stormy night Phil had made a promise to his aching father that he’d be strong enough for the both of them. 

London, which once sounded like hope, adventure, and opportunities, now sounded only like pain, death and misfortune. The promise of a bright happy future remained nothing but a lost dream. Between hospital bills and breaking hearts, a sense of defeat had made a home of the thick and suffocating air surrounding them, plaguing each intake of breath with misery.

And so they sat, the three remaining Lesters, driving back to square one. Their old Manchester home. 

~

Phil had heard the tires screech to a halt, but somehow couldn’t connect it with the fact that he actually had to get up until he heard his brother say, “We’re here, mate.” 

The familiar brick pattern looked down upon the pale blue car, almost as if it was teasing the pathetic attempt that the poor family had made to get away from this very view. Back again?

“I could use some help here,” Phil heard Martyn say in a pained voice, snapping his attention right back to reality, towards the image of his elder brother struggling to haul heavy suitcases out of the boot of the car. They’re here.

“Sorry.” He mumbled, clicking open the squeaking car door and hopping out of the warm car into the chilly evening, a result of the heavy downpour that ceased not too long ago. Seemed almost metaphorical. 

His legs felt like jelly. Maybe it was the long car journey. Maybe it was nerves. But either way, he somehow drifted towards the back of the four wheeled vehicle and extended his share of help. He didn’t miss the tight lipped sympathetic smile that he received from Martyn, and he didn’t ignore it either, giving his brother the satisfaction of seeing one on his otherwise usually solemn face too. A moody teenager is the last thing his family—well, what was left of it—needed now.  
  
So he played the part. Somehow it feels like he always has.  


The cracked and creasing stone passageway looked like it was threatening to collapse. Phil dragged his suitcase along quickly and carefully, avoiding all inconsistencies, afraid to fall into the splitting earth at any moment. 

There wasn’t much they carried. Martyn left most of his stuff back at his dorm in college down south, where he’ll be returning once he’s helped them move in. Their home in London had been fully furnished, and of course everything they left behind here in Manchester lay waiting behind the archaic door. He wondered what else lay in his path upon walking through it and into a new life, and he couldn’t help but ponder on what he’s returning without.

Before he could let his thoughts run wild yet again, cutting through the stagnant air around them like ripples on the still surface of a pond, he heard his mother say, “Go on in, son.” 

And with that, the creaking door swung upon once more, revealing a dusty corridor in an empty house.

And a house was all it seemed to Phil.

Not a home, not yet anyway.

A faint sense of sorrow and nostalgia hung in the air.

~

Phil awoke with a jolt.

Sweaty clothes clung to his frame and he panted, sitting upright at once, immediately alert of the strange change of his surroundings.

His hand clutched a clump of his damp hair as he shut his eyes, listening to the sound of his irregular breathing. He had barely adjusted before another sound was added to the otherwise uncomfortable silence in the still room.

Knock-knock.

He saw his mother standing at the door, leaning against the side of his new—old—cupboard. 

He didn’t say a word, though.

Didn’t really know how to conjure up an appropriate sentence.

She walked towards his bed, expression unreadable.

“Hey.” she forced a smile.

“Hey.” and so did Phil.

“You doing okay?” she asked, taking a seat at the edge of the bed.

Phil nodded, forcing another uncomfortable smile in between the uncomfortable conversation.

“Phil, I-” she sighed, looking down at her idle hands, “I wanted to talk to you” she shifted slightly.

“I know it hasn’t been easy. On any of us. But I wanted to thank you. For trying.” 

Phil shifted his gaze to her eyes.

“I know you’re trying, sweetheart. And I know I’ve been distant. I just needed some time to…process. Think. But we have to keep going. Martyn will be getting back to college in just a day. It’s your first day of school tomorrow, and it’s my first day at work.” She paused, “We have to keep moving. Have to keep busy. Don’t be still, not for a moment. You know it’s what your dad would’ve wanted.” 

She cupped his face tenderly, and Phil sighed at the loving gesture, leaning into her touch.

“I’m proud of you, Phil. No matter what.” She let her hand drop from Phil’s face, but before he could feel any disappointment for the same, his mum clasped his hand tightly between hers.

“I promise, mum.” Phil assured. 

This time, when Phil gave her a smile, it was as genuine as a smile could get.

~

Hearing the incessant and annoying tone of his alarm in the early hours of morning never got easier, but somehow today it felt like a punch to the gut. Like a morbid reminder that he has to go on. He wanted to curl up and roll back into bed more than anything else, he really did, but his mother’s soft whispers of encouragement echoed in his sleepy mind, beckoning him out of bed and into the strange new world that is now to be his reality.

The collars were scratchy on his neck and he ached to reach inside and scratch at his prickly skin every two minutes. He practiced controlling the urge to do so as he neatly tucked his tie in place.

Anticipation. Anxiety. 

He walked over to the window, peeking through the blinds at the sodden streets, an aftermath of last night’s thunderstorm. A smudge of a playground could be spotted through the fogged glass in the near distance. Phil has hazy memories of three little kids playing on a squeaking swing-set. A little boy with curly hair and a little girl with striking green eyes. A silly thought of a possible reconciliation strikes his mind then. 

“All ready, then?” his mum chippers as he makes his way down the stairs, a hand propping his awfully light school bag on his right shoulder and the other shoved between his neck and the left collar of his scratchy white school shirt.

“Yep. Morning, mum.” says Phil, sliding back the burnt sienna chair and taking a seat at the surprisingly neat and decorated dining table. 

“Morning, dear.” She looked tired.

“Toast, then? Or would you fancy some cereal?” she offers, hands sliding down her apron as if she were comforting her own self. Well, she has been after all.

“Cereal would be great.” Phil smiles.

“Coming right up.” she says, turning around. 

Her hair is frizzy and dishevelled, her movements frantic and clumsy. Phil notices the empty jug of coffee on the, shockingly also neat, kitchen counter. It was as if things had almost been forced to fall into place over the restlessness of a sleepless night.

“I’m afraid we don’t have any milk, darling. I’m sure Martyn would’ve offered to go get some but he’s asleep.” She says, sounding concerned. She turns around and sighs, and her eyes look like they’re fighting to stay open. “Toast, it is?”

Phil nods, “Yeah, that’s alright.”

A vase lay at the centre of the dining table, holding a handful of fake but deceptive roses. Almost as if it was an illusion of having their life together. 

Phil took a bite out of the dry piece of bread, immediately chasing it down with a large swig of his coffee. They didn’t have any butter in here either. And then he snuck in a nervous glance at his mother. He sat repeating the actions until his plate was empty and his head was full of thoughts about illusions and reality.

~

It wasn’t that hard to find his way around classes. The halls here were narrower and the walls shorter. His mum had dropped him off just about two hours ago, and everything in him was already willing him to head straight back. 

But then he’d remember the faint conversation in the car.

And the one at his bed.

His promise.

So Phil lifted his head and shifted his gaze from the murky looking school desk towards the gibberish scrawled on the chalkboard, pen moving languidly across the surface of his notebook.

“Boring, huh?” comes an unfamiliar and deep voice from the desk beside his.

Phil looks towards the front of the room. The teacher stayed with his back turned from the class, scribbling more nonsense on to the quickly filling up board.

“Sure is.” Phil sighs, giving him a nervous smile.

The boy chuckles. He had dark, black hair and a set of wayward teeth that oddly suited his freckled face.

“Well, that’s just Mr Gibson, isn’t it?” The boy reaches his hand out. “Jamie, by the way.”

“Phil.” He says, taking his attempt at friendship and shaking it.

“You new around here?” he inquires.

“Yeah, just moved back here from London.” 

“London. Wow, that’s cool. Never been.”

“It’s a pretty cool place.”

“Wait, did you say back?” he looked puzzled. “You lived here before?”

“Uh,” Phil gulps, “yeah- yeah we did.”

“Well, what happened?” Jamie asked, oblivious.

“We-” Phil stuttered.

“All eyes on the board, please.” Mr Gibson interjected, shooting an angry glare towards the back benchers. 

And Phil couldn’t help but feel a little relieved. 

~

The tray in his hands was mostly empty.

He didn’t really have much of an appetite today.

He looked around the cafeteria, lost in a sea of unknown people. The foreign setting and crowd was getting to Phil’s head. A thousand different conversations seemed to meddle into one giant sound of ‘I don’t want to be here’.

He felt like he was drowning in uncertainty, when like a ray of sunlight on a gloomy day, he heard a deep voice that he recognised piercing through the noise.

“Over here, mate!”

He walked over to where Jamie was sat, among a group of two other boys, and placed his tray neatly at the corner of the shiny metal surface.

“Have a seat.” a boy with a dirty mop of a blonde head gestured to the empty space next to him. “I’m Ethan.”

“Hi,” Phil said, taking a seat hesitantly, “Phil.”

“I see you’ve met Jamie before.” said Ethan, turning his head towards the smiling dark haired boy sat across from them.

“Yeah,” Jamie snorted, “we bonded when we got told off by Mr Gibson in History today.”

“Sick!” Ethan said, laughing along.

“This is Dan, by the way.” Said Jamie.

The curly haired boy looked up from his tray and towards the pair of blue eyes that were now fixated upon him.

Phil felt a strange feeling in his chest at that, one that he couldn’t quite place. Couldn’t describe without sounding strange or awkward. One that the word ‘home’ could very well encompass. This boy just looked…familiar.

There was just something about his curly brown hair and dimpled smile that made Phil’s stomach do funny things. He wracked his brain to place this boy somewhere known to him, but his head was cloudy and his insides were fluttering. Under the gaze of his soft brown eyes, he felt a sense of comfort and panic all at once.

In between the new exchange of smiles and greetings, Phil wondered if he felt it too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, i really hope you enjoyed this first chapter. there's so much to this story than meets the eye and i really hope you stick around until the end of this journey with me. i would absolutely love to hear your thoughts and opinions!  
> thank you so much for reading this :)  
> -skye


	2. smoke.

Saying goodbye is hard.

Phil knew that better than most people already, of course.

But somehow it didn’t really hit him that Martyn was leaving for college once more until he felt his pillow dampen underneath him, a single teardrop rolling down from the bridge of his nose and off his quickly reddening face.

The record player crackled in the background.

He thinks about the time he and his father had gone out to the shops and bought it together, discussing favourite records and tracks and just having fun. Busy being happy.

And here comes the downpour.

The room was still. Lifeless despite the fact that there was a record spinning right beside him, playing music for a pair of disinterested ears. 

It all just hit him at once, perhaps. The gravity of all the recent events that have moulded his life into this foreign and unknown shape.

Things are just starting to “fall in place” again, technically speaking. His mum just started a well-paid job at a call centre across town, his brother is back at the university he always planned on going to, doing the course that he always planned on doing. Martyn sure does have a real talent for photography. And Phil? He started school back up and managed to familiarise himself with a group of boys that seem like they’re soon to be the lot of people that he will address as his friends. He even set up his room, it’s not quite how it looked back in London, but the things important to him have found a place for themselves in the space around him.

But there he lays, looking up at the ceiling.

Just thinking.

It can be dangerous, that.

Sometimes confronting the reality of what you’re going through or what you’re feeling just seems like too much of a burden. A task too tedious when you could just repress it and move on instead.

Just in time, he here’s a buzzing sound under his pillow.

“Tabby” reads the disturbingly bright phone screen.

He’d almost forgotten about his group of friends that he left behind. Too many other things to think about, of course. Tabby was one of his closest friends.

The past tense in that sentence sends a shiver down his spine.

He hates the uncertainty surrounding everything in his life right now, how he’s living every waking moment fuelled by paranoia.

So he writes, “hey! sorry im a bit busy rn but will surely call back later :)” and sets his mind reeling yet again.

~

The lectures that day were a haze. 

Besides some small talk with Jamie, Phil tries to keep his mouth shut and his eyes open. He didn’t manage much sleep last night. He doesn’t remember if he even fell asleep, really. 

“You look a bit sick, mate. Doing alright?” he remembers Jamie asking at some point in the day. Phil had replied saying he’s doing okay, but he knows he didn’t sound convincing at all. He also remembers sitting behind Dan in English. The mysterious boy had captivated his intrigue for a second, Phil even managed to return a lopsided smile that seemed to break the monotony and make his day seem a tad bit more bearable.

And then there was lunch.

Jamie, Dan, Ethan, and Phil all sat at the same table that they always claim. There was chatter no doubt, probably lots of it. But Phil busied himself in studying the room, drowning out all conversation and chewing on whatever food he accomplished to consume. 

His eyes wandered for quite a while, observing the chaos around him, until he landed right back at his own table. 

He looks at Jamie, noticing how his freckles seem to almost bunch up together when he laughs, crinkling up his nose. How his cheeks create uneven dimples when he smiles widely. Or how his hair is a dark matte black, not the slightest bit reflective or shiny. 

He shifts his gaze to Ethan, noting how his hair has brown roots. He bleaches it? A clinking sound distracts him to his hands. He wears a silver bracelet on his right wrist, obviously too big in size for him. He wonders the significance of it.

And then his eyes fall upon Dan. He doesn’t have many freckles, not like Jamie, but some speckled dots decorate the space around his eyes. His eyes which Phil registers as pretty, before he can think over it too much. They’re a dark shade of brown, but so full of light that they look like a glazed over swirl of so many shades, and just the right combination of them. He watches as his eyes crinkle up when he laughs, almost as if you can see the joy radiating through him. His lips are red and bitten, contrasting with his warm skin. Even the few blemishes on his face look perfectly placed. He glows, almost. Like his skin was dipped in honey and his mouth in sugar. And the gleam in his eyes is hard to miss. 

Especially when his eyes are looking right at you.

Wait.

Fuck.

“What’re you looking at, poofter?” 

The words cut through him like a knife, piercing into his train of thought and bleeding out in panic. 

His eyes fall to the floor, but he can hear the conversation loud and clear now. 

They’re laughing, all of them.

At him.

He peaks a glance at Jamie, who is in fits of laughter himself. He doesn’t let that fact hurt him too much and quickly looks up at the boy in front of him, offering a dull and nervous laugh to cut through the awkward situation. The boy wearing the same vibrant smile that Phil was describing to himself not too long ago. 

Except, it looks not radiant, nor gleaming, but sinister. 

His lips are just chapped.

His eyes just two empty sink holes.

The crevices of his face just indents.

His blemishes just blemishes.

In a moment, everything had vanished, a bitter after-taste hung in his gaze no matter where he looked, so Phil stuck to observing the ground this time. 

The conversation seemed to have moved on.

But there he was.

And when his eyes accidentally stumbled upon Dan again, he saw nothing.

~

English being the last lecture really didn’t help Phil’s case.

He didn’t sit behind Dan this time.

So thinking really is dangerous sometimes, huh?

Phil distracts himself by scribbling some notes. 

Mostly doodles, but some notes.

His eyes stay glued to the page or the board, but he doesn’t dare so much as budge otherwise, determined to just make it through this lecture and return back home.

Home where he doesn’t have to analyse every little move he makes.

Home where he doesn’t have to fight the urge to look again.

Because god, Phil wanted to look.

He wanted to look where he wasn’t allowed to so, so much.

And he didn’t understand why. Maybe he didn’t have to understand.

He just had to pretend that it’s nothing.

How hard could it be?

He’s sat gliding his pencil idly across the paper when he feels a tap on his shoulder. The girl with ginger hair that was sitting beside him held out a roughly folded piece of paper with one hand, the other still occupied in her notebook. Her face remained down, eyes burning into her page as she disinterestedly passed the chit to Phil.

His heart was beating out of his chest as the paper slipped into in his hands. 

“meet me near the back. after school. – d”

He folded the chit back up and slipped it into his pocket.

The tiny initial next to the words made Phil’s insides squirm.

With a restless heart, he began scribbling notes again, significantly more messy than before.

He didn’t offer Dan as much as a glance. 

But the clock?

Now that his eyes never left.

~

He was stood there waiting already, leaning into the damp brick wall with his backpack thrown over one shoulder. His hands reached around to zip up his bag and then he slumped to the wall again, shoving both hands into the pockets of his black hoodie.

“You came.” Said Dan, still not looking up from his feet.

“I did.” Said Phil, walking up to where Dan was standing, but maintaining a more than reasonable distance from him.

“Look,” Dan begins, “I’m really not great with apologies.” He says, huffing a heavy breath. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t owe you one.”

Phil looks to the floor. Cigarette butts and fallen ashes surrounded the surface they were stood upon.

He hears footsteps coming towards him, until the black shoes appear in his line of sight, standing right before his own.

“So, I’m Sorry, Phil.”

Phil sighs, and that’s when the brown eyes finally meet the blue. 

And even in the awkwardness of the situation, it feels oddly comforting for Phil to be existing in that moment.

“I shouldn’t have said what I said. I didn’t mean it, I swear.”

Phil tries not to think about how defensive Dan is being or how the word stings in a manner that it didn’t before.

Dan’s face is sincere. Apologetic. Sad, even.

Phil wonders how often Dan wears this look, and then suddenly decides that he wishes Dan never had to wear it at all.

“It’s alright, Dan. We’re good.” Phil says, giving him a small smile.

Dan smiles back.

“I know it doesn’t make things all better, but I was wondering if you wanted to join all of us for the party tonight. Jamie will be there, Ethan too. It’s at Will’s place, he lives right down our street.”

“Our street? Wait, we live on the same street?”

Dan fully chuckles.

“I can’t believe you didn’t know that already.” Says Dan, shaking his head. “I watch you leave for school, like, every day.”

Phil groans.

“And you’re the one calling me out for unconventional staring?”

Dan cackles at that, and in no time they’re both a giggly mess.

A soft shade of pink begins to creep up on Dan’s cheeks, forming a lovely little rosy patch on the left side.

“Give me your phone.” Dan says, extending his hand.

Phil reaches into his pocket, and as he pulls his hand out holding the phone, a tiny piece of paper falls alongside it. He passes the phone to Dan.

Dan is stood with his eyes buried into Phil’s phone screen and his hands moving quickly, as Phil quickly bends down to pick up the chit. He shoves it back into his pocket hurriedly, hoping Dan didn’t catch notice.

“Here you go.” Says Dan, returning Phil his phone and offering him a small but genuine smile. “See you, mate.”

And then he’s off.

Phil stands there for a minute or two more, wishing that doing so could extend the moment just a little while longer.

~

Now, Phil isn’t exactly a party person. 

But as he sat there in his room that night, silence his only companion, he pulled out his phone to see the message that Dan had typed up on Phil’s phone and sent to himself. It was just an address and a time really, but all it looked like to Phil was an escape. An escape from the incessant rambling of his mind. An escape that he could really use right now.

And so he stood before the designated house, staring up at it like it’s a big old green monster. It wasn’t that hard to spot to be honest. First of all, the place was fucking massive. A literal mansion. And then of course, not to mention the loud music, screaming teenagers, and trashed front porch that gave more than enough away.

Phil wore a dark blue shirt and some denims with white sneakers, not bothering too hard with his outfit. 

The moment he walked in, the first thing on his mind was finding Jamie. 

As it turns out, the task wasn’t too difficult, even given the clusterfuck surrounding him. In fact, he found Ethan right away too. 

Now the problem was where he found them.

Ethan was bent over the stairs, throwing up in violent quantities. Jamie stood behind him, helping the poor guy up and cleaning up after him.

“Is he alright?” Says Phil, walking up towards Ethan and Jamie.

“Yeah,” Says Jamie, letting out something between a laugh and a sigh, “I told this dumbass not to chug everything so fast.”

Ethan slurs something in his defence incoherently. Phil doubts he made any valid points.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of him. Enjoy your party, mate. Will should be around here somewhere. He’s the coolest. I’m really glad you came, wouldn’t want this idiot to ruin your night.” Jamie says, beginning to haul a slurring Ethan down the stairs carefully. 

Phil stands there for a second, before he’s startled by a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, sorry, I don’t think I know you?” comes a deep, smooth voice from behind Phil. “I’m Will, by the way.”

The boy standing before him is significantly older. He wears a blue pastel sweater over a pale white shirt, matched with a pair of black trousers. His hair is golden, just like his glasses, quiff styled perfectly.

“Hi, I’m so sorry, a- actually-”, Phil stutters, “Dan invited me? I’m with Jamie, Ethan, and Dan.” He says hesitantly. 

“Oh, no worries, lad.” Says Will, patting his shoulder. “I saw Jamie and Ethan leave I’m afraid, but you can find Dan on the roof. Right up the stairs and to the right.”

“Thank you.” Phil says politely.

“Oh and drinks are right over there.” Says Will, pointing to his left and giving Phil a little wink. “Enjoy the party.”

~

Navigating through the sweaty and hormonal teenagers was a task, but avoiding all potential drink spill hazards and make-out sessions, Phil finally made it to the top. This really wasn’t the ideal way he wanted to spend his night, and honestly, he was getting quite irritable. But for some odd reason, he was hoping that meeting Dan could provide him with some compensation.

The wind was chilly and the breeze messed up the little composure that his hair had left.

A figure in a black leather jacket sat on the roof, the palms of his hands lay flat behind him on the cold concrete floor. 

Phil was just about to walk towards him, when he saw it.

The faint cloud of smoke that he exhaled into the night.

He lifted one of his hands up and took another drag of his cigarette, and Phil couldn’t move.

The image of his father, suffering with a horrible disease that he didn’t ask for, flashed in his mind.

And there sat a teenager, giving that same disease an open invitation.

In that moment, he hated Dan.

God, he hated him with every fiber of his being.

Coming here was a bad idea.

Phil couldn’t help it when his blood boiled.

And he couldn’t help it when his fists clenched.

He couldn’t help it when he turned to leave.

But the worst part is, he couldn’t help it but turn right back upon hearing the sweetest voice he’s ever heard say: “Phil?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [IMPORTANT UPDATE: this fic will be on hiatus until november 2019 for several important reasons. i’m so sorry for this sudden break but i hope y’all will stick around with me and read further :’) i would also like to mention that this fic was posted before phil’s draw my life 2 video and hence is completely fiction and means no ill faith whatsoever to phil or his dad with respect to the involvement of cancer. thank you. hope to see you again soon<3]  
> -skye

**Author's Note:**

> find me on twitter under the same username (twitter.com/shxksha) or instagram (instagram.com/shxksha) <3


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